


Fuck It I Love You

by julietswildchild



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, letter writing, tommy doesn't physically feature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julietswildchild/pseuds/julietswildchild
Summary: Y/N is running from her feelings after her nasty breakup and trying to forget Tommy. Based on a song request for the song "Fuck It I Love You" by Lana Del Rey on Tumblr.





	Fuck It I Love You

Y/N was a runner. No, not on legs, but in her head. She found that the only solution was to run from her problems. She wasn’t necessarily afraid, she just hated facing them.**  
**

Things at home had always been difficult, so the second she turned 18, she ran.

She ran when business with the Russians and the subsequent priest became treacherous.

She ran from the Shelby’s when Changretta had come after their family, overwhelmed by the nature of Tommy’s business and everything that came with it.

Now, September 1927, she had run all the way to California on the other side of the world, living what she thought would be her best life.

Shooting up with the American’s drugs, woozy and off in another world where a certain Shelby brother didn’t exist. A world where naïve, young men would fall at her feet when she sang karaoke at the bars.

She tried to tell herself that the nights she spent in strangers’ beds was helping, that the drugs were changing her state of mind. Y/N knew deep down that she was lying to herself. It kept her protected from getting hurt. She could live with her own self-inflicted harm, but to be ripped apart by another would be shameful. It was for her own good, she told herself.

Y/N tried desperately to ignore the ache in her bones after she tossed in the sheets with other men, wishing Tommy Shelby was the one to hold her, even for just one night.

This life was killing her, but she’d rather die at her own hand.

Standing on a hotel balcony looking to the sea, she thought of him, her nightgown blowing in the coastal breeze. Sighing softly, she sang.

“Dream a little dream of me,”

Her heart called for his.

“Make me into something sweet.”

Their breakup had been rough when Tommy had been on the edge of an existential crisis. They’d both exchanged words, both cutting each other where they knew it would hurt the most. Y/N had accused him of loving business more than her, and he criticised her for the way she always ran away.

So here they were, both fulfilling their most prominent faults. They’d never spoken after that. Alice simply got on the next boat and Tommy threw himself into his new MP role.

Y/N hoped that Tommy’s memories of her weren’t bitter. She hoped Tommy could overlook the brutal ending and chose to remember the many memories together, nights spent in each other’s arms.

Y/N’s eyes watered, wondering if Tommy ever thought over her from across the oceans that separated them.

“Fuck it, I love you,” she whispered, as if he was right beside her and she was worried that he would hear. “Just let my heart live.”

Remaining in her cocoon of contemplation at the railing of the balcony, Y/N cried like many nights before. Soundless tears tracing lines down her face, her expression numb with hollow eyes. Oh, how she missed him, needed him. She missed the nights they would spend holding each other, soothing each other and telling each other how much they loved the other.

Now there were only naïve American boys to hold her, oblivious to the state of her heart. They put her desires to rest each night but never cured the disease Y/N was plagued with.

With tear stained cheeks and a hollow heart, Y/N returned to the bed she had been sharing. She spent many nights waking from restless sleep, unable to get her mind off her previous lover.

She winced when the sleeping man beside her wrapped an arm around her loosely in his sleep. What was she doing? Would Tommy think she was a whore if he saw how she was now? She’d bedded so many men by now, falling asleep from the highs they gave her or the highs she gave herself from the drugs.

How fucking pathetic, to still be yearning for him, for his voice, for his body. For Tommy.

Y/N eventually fell back into her tortured dreams, Tommy’s voice often finding its way through them, taunting her heart.

The bed was empty and cold beside her when she woke. Squinting at the clock on the dresser, Alice knew that busy men had to be at work right now, the time reading 9:00.

After spending a while wallowing in misery in the massive bed, surrounded by lavish furniture, Y/N finally dressed in the previous night’s dress. What a hopeless excuse for a woman she’d become.

She missed Birmingham, missed her home in Tommy’s embrace. She’d tried so hard to move on but Tommy had stolen her heart and never given it back. He owned her, whether he knew it or not. She’d debated writing a letter but decided against showing Tommy just how desperate she’d become.

After paying the bill for the room Y/N returned to her apartment. It was small, as she knew she’d feel uncomfortable anywhere, no matter how extravagant. She nearly tripped over the mail after she unlocked her door, scattered in the doorway from the mailman dumping it through the slot in the door.

Her first objective was to pour more gin down her throat to soothe the effects of the previous nights’. She then changed, throwing gulps down her throat every few seconds.

Y/N hated the feeling the men left behind on her. She couldn’t tell what it was, whether the scent of their cologne and whiskey or the night’s memories of their hands over her body.

Taking her armchair by the window in the warm morning sun, she leafed through the mail dropped through the hatch of her house. Bills, bills, business offers, one from Scotland, one from… Birmingham. She recognized the address on the back immediately. She tore the envelope open, fingers fumbling with the paper inside. Holding the letter closed for a moment, Y/N knew this letter was already changing things without even reading it. Now would have been a good time to pray if she believed.

Unfolding the paper open cautiously, she took a tense inhale as she recognised the handwriting of none other than Thomas fucking Shelby. Not typewritten. The bastard had made it personal enough to give another reminder of himself.

_Y/N,_

_I hope Sacramento is treating you well. Business in England is as expected, though we’ve had many changing relations since the Italians. Everyone’s been busy and I know they all miss you._

_I know things ended badly between us and I understand if you’ve found a better life in California. I wanted to have my final say with you. You know I’m not good with expressing myself, so please be patient. _

_When we met, you blew my mind. You know everyone adores you and I know you feel it and it tires you to keep up the image. _

_Fuck, I’ve really had to swallow my pride to write this letter. I hope you don’t hate me even more for this. _

_I wish I could just hold you. Or at least say that you’re mine. I’ve tried to move on, I really have, but it’s killing me slowly. I sometimes wonder if you dream of me the way I do about you. I don’t think you feel the same. I hope you don’t remember me as just the man that hurt you months ago, that you’ll remember the times we went riding at Arrow House together, the time you forced me to go on that picnic with you when we made love by the creek. I miss you, Y/N._

_Saying this is probably going to make things even worse: but if I wasn’t so fucked up, I think I’d fuck you all the time. I’m sorry I didn’t realise what I had until it was gone, the way you helped me escape my own head, when you’d help me not to stress so much. _

_Mostly, I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand why you run, but I think it’s similar to the way I run at things head-on. If that’s the way you deal with things, then I can live with that. If you want to keep the distance from me in America, then that’s okay. If you want to come back home to be with me, then I’ll welcome you with open arms._

_I’ve said what I needed to say, and sweetheart, I meant every word. Let this note be a reminder to you that I’ll always be here, waiting for you. I won’t force you but I am asking, maybe even begging. I don’t think I can live without you._

_It’s selfish, but some days I hope that somehow Sacramento is horrible so you’ll come back._

_If you still hate me, just know that Charlie misses you and wishes you would come back. He loves you._

_Yours forever,_

_-T_

Y/N’s heart was clenched by the time she reached the conclusion of the letter. He still thought of her. She wasn’t the only one that still pined, needed him like water for a thirsty traveler.

A feeling Y/N recognized as relief flooded through her at the words of Tommy’s admission. It was what she dreamt of hearing but never thought Tommy would be one to apologise or reconcile.

She was sobbing now, her shoulders shaking as she held the letter close to her chest. She never wanted to go home as much as she did now.

In a way, she’d always been waiting for the right trigger to reach out across the oceans for him.

That hour, Y/N wrote her thousandth letter to Tommy, the only one she would ever slip into the afternoon’s post.

She needed to come home.


End file.
